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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375890">Save One For Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherCrazyFangirl/pseuds/AnotherCrazyFangirl'>AnotherCrazyFangirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>12 Days of Dethmas 2020 [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metalocalypse (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas, F/F, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Late Night Snacking, M/M, Pickles is high, baking goes wrong, baking with your crush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:13:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherCrazyFangirl/pseuds/AnotherCrazyFangirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pickles gets the munchies at three in the morning.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Original Female Character(s), Charles Foster Offdensen/Original Male Character(s), William Murderface/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>12 Days of Dethmas 2020 [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055411</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Save One For Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dec 21st: Making and Eating Holiday Treats</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pickles laid flat across his bed, stomach rumbling. He glanced over at his clock with his redden eyes. </p><p>Three o'clock in the morning. </p><p>He groaned. Jean-Pierre was asleep and he couldn't wake up any Klokateers. (A rule Offdensen had instated after multiple complaints about having to work overtime for Murderface by female Klokateers). He rolled over onto his stomach in an attempt to muffle the gurgles as his mind ran. </p><p>If he dared to wake up Noni, Murderface would try to fight him. He could easily win but he was in no mood for a fist fight over some baked goods. </p><p>Dana was another good option but she hated being taken out of her sleep routine and would be cranky and napping the rest of the day. </p><p>Akita wasn't even an option unless Pickles wanted a high heel stabbed into his eye. </p><p>He buried his face into his black comforter and groaned loudly. </p><p>-----------</p><p>It had taken him almost a half an hour of deliberating before he tiptoed his way to Nathan's room. He cracked the door which groaned in response to being open this early. </p><p>The snoring lump in the middle of the bed was alone and Pickles sighed in relief quietly. He really didn't need to see any naked women next to his friend. </p><p>He poked Nathan, crawling onto the bed. "Nate." He hissed quietly. Nathan grumbled in his general direction before rolling over, bringing the comforter over his head. Pickles pawed at the opening and pulled it down. He pulled gently on Nathan's hair. "Dood, wake the hell up. I'm hungry." </p><p>Nathan glared at him with narrow slits for eyes. "It's fucking early, Pickles. Go to bed." He took his own advice and burrowed deeper into his plush comforter. Pickles glared at him and started to pull on his leg. </p><p>"Please? I just wan' help!" He growled as he tugged harder. Nathan only moved his leg and threw the drummer off the bed. Pickles grunted as he bounced across the (thankfully) soft carpet. He got back up and tugged the comforter. </p><p>Nathan growled low in his throat and clutched the blanket tighter. "Don't tear my blanket!" </p><p>"Then make some food with me!" </p><p>They played tug of war for roughly ten to fifteen minutes before the blanket ripped between them. The two stared at the rip in disbelief. Nathan glared at him and he had the decency to look sheepish. "Uh...sorry." Pickles mumbled to his feet, letting go of the blanket. </p><p>Nathan rolled his eyes and got up. He picked up a pair of old black sweatpants that had a hole in the knee. "Fine, let's just get this shit over with." </p><p>Pickles celebrated with a small fist pump before following Nathan to the kitchen. </p><p>--------------------</p><p>"So...how the hell do we do this?" </p><p>Pickles shrugged. "I was hoping that maybe you knew somethin' I didn't." </p><p>Nathan rolled his eyes. "Why would I know anything about baking? Why didn't you get Noni?" </p><p>"They're in bed with Murderface. Ya think I want to walk into the middle of that?" Pickles wrinkled his nose in pure disgust and Nathan gagged. "Okay, fair point." He rubbed his face. "Akita?" Pickles stared at him with impassive half lidded eyes. "Look, I'm high, not fucking suicidal." </p><p>"I should've just stayed in bed." Nathan moaned as he rubbed his face again. </p><p>"Oh come on. We've seen Noni and Akita bake. You've seen your mom. We can fucking do this!" </p><p>--------------------</p><p>They could, in fact, not fucking do it. </p><p>"Dood, what's the difference between teaspoon and tablespoon?" Nathan shrugged, squinting to read the miniscule letters on the measuring spoons. "I think it's size? Or something..." He grumbled before throwing them away. </p><p>He grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer. "Look, just use this." He thrust the black metal in the drummer's direction. "It's gotta be the same." Pickles nodded, taking the spoon and throwing a few spoonfuls of baking powder. </p><p>Nathan cracked three eggs against the counter, pointedly ignoring the broken egg pooled on the cool marble countertop. A few pieces of shell fell into the bowl as he pulled the shells apart and the duo frowned at the unwanted  specks. "...It'll probably be fine." Pickles said politely, knowing full well that their baked goods were going to be complete and utter shit. Nathan sighed heavily through his nose, running egg whites into his hair. He pulled his hand away and frowned at it as if he was personally offended. </p><p>Pickles added another splash of milk. "What're we even makin'?" Nathan shrugged. "Well, Christmas is coming so I guess it'd be cookies." </p><p>They both looked into the silver bowl. Pickles had tried to mix together their amalgamation and it became a soupy mess. "...I don't think that's right." Pickles mumbled, poking at it. He had managed to poke one of the clumps of flour that coated his fingertip with some of the not-quite-tan dough running down his finger. Working on autopilot, he popped his finger into his mouth and almost gagged. "Okay, look. I know we don't bake but that shit don't taste like cookie dough." He wiped his finger on his pants and whined loudly. </p><p>Nathan hesitated before scooping some of the liquid batter with two fingers. He licked it hesitantly and retched. "Pickles, what the fuck did we make?!" </p><p>Pickles waved him off, grabbing a bottle of beer and throwing it in to hopefully help with the taste. "It might taste better once we bake it." </p><p>"Fine, but put some more dry stuff so that it doesn't get everywhere." </p><p>------------------------</p><p>Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. He had been roused out of bed at the smell of smoke and a duo of Klokateers urgently calling for him over the intercom. He only had enough time to pull on his robe over his boxers to be greeted by a fidgeting Pickles who was covered from head to toe in an extremely wet batter and a frowning Nathan who had egg in his hair and was rubbing a new burn on his forearm. "Who would like to explain what the hell happened here?" </p><p>Pickles looked at the floor, a drop of batter hitting the floor. Nathan looked up at the ceiling with his jaw set. </p><p>Charles sighed. "Right." He exhaled sharply through his nose and motioned for the Klokateers to start cleaning before Jean-Pierre saw the state of his beloved kitchen. </p><p>"Mr. Offdensen!" </p><p>Shit. </p><p>Jean-Pierre let out a loud gasp, covering his mouth. It was hard to make out the shock on his face but the slump of his shoulders spoke volumes. "My kitchen!" He shrieked. He pulled at what little hair he had left. "Non. Non, non, non, non!" His English melted into frantic, panicked French as he ran about the kitchen. The oven was still smoking, the hood hadn't been turned on so it was all remaining inside Mordhaus. The sink was piled high with dishes and flung ingredients. Eggshell and shards of a bottle were on the floor and Jean-Pierre mourned the loss of his favorite olive oil. It was a fresh pressed virgin olive oil flown straight from the finest fields in Italy. Now all over the kitchen floor. </p><p>He slumped to his knees and let out a strangled cry. </p><p>Charles ushered the boys out who mumbled half-hearted apologies in the French man's direction. Jean-Pierre didn't even react to the words. He was a broken man. </p><p>Charles hesitantly placed his hand on the chef's shoulder. Jean-Pierre looked up at him with sorrowful dark eyes and Charles winced internally. He was shit at the HR portion of the business but it was his boys that ruined the kitchen. "I...ah. I apologize on behalf of the bo- of the band. I will replace the kitchen. We'll have it outfitted with whatever you see fit." </p><p>Jean-Pierre nodded numbly and looked back at the mess of his beloved kitchen. "It will be expensive, Mr. Offdensen." </p><p>Charles winced visibly this time, scrunching up his nose. "I don't doubt that."</p>
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